


Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High?

by MissMoochy



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel
Genre: Drunk Dialing, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, M/M, POV Foggy Nelson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:27:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29182515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoochy/pseuds/MissMoochy
Summary: Foggy drunk-dials Matt. He spills secrets that he'd never wanted him to know.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High?

Stupid Matt. The last week had passed in mainly a blur. Foggy wrapped his lips around any bottle, gulping down liquor until his chest burned. And all because of Matthew Fucking Murdock.

Their friendship had overcome a lot of hurdles, but Foggy wasn’t sure they could beat this.

Matt had been taking stupid risks in patrol lately. It wasn’t bad enough that most nights, he would head out and search for trouble. He was getting injured, limping into the office every morning with cuts and bruises, and stubbornly ignoring Foggy when he tried to talk to him about it. Matt hated that Foggy knew his secret. He could see it, in the clench of his jaw. It was a sore point between them, that Matt had never told him his secret. Foggy had had to find out. In the most horrifying way possible. He still had the occasional nightmare where he’d see Matt’s bleeding body on the floor. At least Matt had upgraded his outfit. No more black pyjamas, he wore kevlar now. The horns looked stupid, but wearing clothes that can actually stop you from getting stabbed — that was a good start.

They hadn’t been spending much time together in the last few weeks. Work was work, you couldn’t goof off. And Matt would leave abruptly every evening, and Foggy would know he was going home to climb into that damned red suit.

Foggy slumped down in his couch, drained the bottle and let it fall on the rug. Here he was, wasting a Saturday night getting drunk. The television was on, playing some game show but it didn’t hold his interest. He knew Matt was patrolling right now. But damn it, he wanted to hear his voice. He wasn’t even sure if Matt took his phone with him on patrol. There was so much he didn’t know about him. That’s what it all boiled down to. Secrets. Too many secrets.

On a whim, he dialled Matt’s number. The cool, automated voice was telling him that if he wished to leave a message, he should wait until the bleep, blah blah.

**Beep.**

_“Hey, asshole. Remember me? Your best friend? I’m sitting here, it’s a Saturday night and I could be making friends or getting laid, but no, I’m drinking alone because I’m worrying about your dopey ass. You’d better not be getting stabbed right now!”_

He hung up.

He felt a bit better for having said that. It was all true. The only reason he was knocking back cheap beer was out of fear for Matt. He hadn’t been able to settle down and relax all evening. And now it was night and he was getting drunker and more bad-tempered.

He _could_ be getting laid! He was a catch. Wasn’t he? He had a white-collar job, an apartment, a degree. Okay, he might not have Matt’s movie star looks or freaky ninja skills, but he liked to think he was good for conversation, at least.

There had been a time where he thought he had a shot with Karen. She was beautiful. Golden hair and porcelain complexion like an angel. Okay, she might not make his palms sweat and his heart pound, but she was brave and beautiful and smart, which was his type. But she’d taken one look at Matt and fallen hard enough to dent the floorboards. He scratched his jaw irritably.

He called him up again.

_“You’re...you’re annoying. You know that, Matt? You strut around like you’re, uh, Ryan Reynolds, Mother Theresa and — and Stevie Wonder all rolled into one. But you’re not, you think you’re so...and everyone’s buying it. Karen...man. You had to get her on board and she saw you, and I could see it. ‘Cause after that date I had with her...you remember? I knew it wasn’t happening. And the way she looked at you—”_

**Click.**

Foggy rolled his eyes. He was just getting fired up and the stupid system cut him off. Well, he would just leave Matt another one.

“—please leave a message after the tone.”

**Beep.**

Foggy dragged a hand through his hair. Some nights, when he closed his eyes, he could still see Matt’s pinched, chalky face, his body wet with blood.

_“You jerk. This sucks, man. I feel like...we’re friends and I’ve tried to be a good friend to you. But these secrets. You know how I felt, seeing you there? Dripping blood? You fucking —you kept me in the dark! Why, Matt? D’you think I was stupid? That I couldn’t be trusted? Fuck you, that’s low. I’d fucking take a bullet for you, you dick. Some friend you are…”_

* * *

The night wore on.

_“—and I’m gonna talk and you’re gonna listen, Matt. I’ll fill your freakin’ voicebox, I mean, voicemail box, inbox thingy. You need to lis — you never listen to me, to anybody, except that priest buddy of yours. Is it — do you think you’re better than us? Better than me and Karen? Okay, I can’t hear, like, a ladybug walking on a leaf ten miles from here like you can, but that doesn’t mean I’m a moron…”_

* * *

_“—why’d you, what made you think oh, I’ll wear a stupid scarf on my head and beat up muggers. Like, what the fuck, man? I was a kid, I had the same comic books as you, I didn’t grow up thinking I was going to be Superman. You don’t care about anything, do you? You don’t care about yourself, that’s why you do this stuff. And I’m sick of it. I’m sick of you.”_

He was sloppy now, his swigs getting deeper, as he aimed the bottle’s lip at his mouth. He missed, and beer slopped down his neck.

_“Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Dumb name. Dumb guy. You — should have — you can’t — why even? I — I don’t know… I just don’t know, Matt...”_

* * *

**Beep.**

_“These girls, man... These girls you fuck. They never know about you. Do they? They never know they’re fucking the devil. D’you ever think about telling ‘em?”_

* * *

He decided to lie down. The room was spinning like he was peering through a porthole and the boat was in treacherous water. When he moved his head even a fraction, it seemed like it bought him another few seconds of spinny vision. He needed to lie still.

Matt. Stupid Matt with his hazel eyes and red lips and awesome hair. He’s the worst.

_“I could do stuff for you that no woman can do. You could, I… I’d do anything for you. We could have had something special, Matty. Think about it. There’s this thing between us. I guess I’m delusioning myself… Wait, that’s not a word… Is it?”_

* * *

He didn’t remember falling asleep but when he sat up in bed, the room was darker than he remembers. And the night was quieter, he could hear the hum of traffic before. Now, it was quiet.

He shouldn’t have drunk so much. That wasn’t smart. And it didn’t help. He didn’t feel any better for having done it. He was mostly sober now, still a bit hazy but he felt sharper. What would Matt—

Oh no. Matt.

Memories flooded in, stabbing his poor, hungover brain like acupuncture needles. He'd called Matt. HE'D CALLED MATT. He'd called him and left voicemails. How many? Did he fill up the inbox? He remembered threatening to do so. He'd said things, embarrassing things. Incriminating things.

His fingers curled, possessed by the desperate desire to fix things. Desperate but impotent desire — there’s nothing he can do. He can’t mug Matt, confiscate the cellphone. He can’t do some sci-fi BS and hack the phone and erase his messages. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe Matt hadn’t listened to the messages yet. His phone might be dead. After all, he hadn’t been around to answer the calls, that’s why the phone kept going to voicemail, right? He'd most likely had left his phone at his apartment. All Foggy had to do was shoot off a quick text, warning his friend not to listen to the voicemails and the situation would be resolved.

As fast as his stupid, sausage fingers could type, he wrote up a quick message.

**MATT you’re going to get a notification that I sent you some voicemails. DO NOT LISTEN TO THEM, JUST DELETE THEM. They were meant for somebody else. — Foggy**

Hopefully, Matt would listen to the text before he thought to listen to his voicemails. Foggy wasn’t sure how many he sent, or what exactly he’d said, but he knew it was bad. 

If it was Foggy and he received a text like that from Matt, he’d totally dial the voicemail number. He’d try to lie convincingly that he hadn’t heard the messages when he was inevitably interrogated by Matt, but his friend would hear the lie and make that disapproving pout. But Matt was an honourable guy, and surely wouldn’t want to sit through God knows how many slurring messages, so hopefully, Foggy had got away with that one.

* * *

He didn’t receive any messages from Matt either accepting or refusing his request or saying anything at all. The radio silence wasn’t out of character. He imagined Matt patrolling, beating down dudes and definitely NOT checking his messages. Foggy flipped through channels on the TV, but his mind couldn’t focus on the news and he decided he should just go back to sleep.

He brushed his teeth, changed into PJs and crawled into bed. He’d left the window uncovered and cracked open just a bit to let the cool air filter in. Sometimes, he could catch a glimmer of moonlight, something weak and fleeting, that had somehow escaped the smoggy clouds and light pollution.

* * *

He heard movement from the fire escape outside. He sat bolt upright in bed, seized by panic. A vague shape slithering through his open window. The fear bled away as he recognised the outline of bulky shoulders, a head and two tiny horns. They didn’t look so cartoonish right now.

“Matt!”

Matt cocked his head to the side, listening to some inaudible sound. Was he listening to Foggy’s heartbeat? Or keeping an ear pricked for danger outside?

“Hello, Foggy,” he whispered.

“What are you doing here?” Foggy said as Matt drew nearer, a dark figure looming over his bed like a vampire. Foggy still felt weighted to the bed with sleep, so it didn’t seem that odd for Matt to be standing in his bedroom. He squinted up at him.

“I got your messages.”

 _No no no no._ Foggy felt the blood drain from his face. “Oh. Those. Um, they were — you weren’t supposed to listen to those.”

Matt threw one long, red leg over the mattress, preparing to climb on it. “But they were meant for me. You sent them to my inbox?”

“Yeah, but I was drunk, it was, I was drunk-dialling, I didn’t—”

But Matt was already on the bed.

* * *

Matt leaned over him, kneeling on the mattress. Droplets of rainwater dripped from his cowl, splattering on Foggy’s neck.

“You said you could do things for me that no woman would do. You said you’d do anything.”

“That was—”

“Was that a lie?” Matt growled in his ear and Foggy turned his head away, screwed his eyes closed. He wished he didn’t so dumb and sluggish. He wasn’t sure what he should say to him, but the words, whatever they were, had escaped him.

“No…”

“So, what would you do for me?”

“Please—”

“No, what would you do? _Tell me_ what you’d do.” He grabbed Foggy’s shoulders.

Foggy stared up at him, desperately.

“Everything! God, Matt, everything! There’s nothing I wouldn’t give you, it’s already yours. Shit, it’s all been yours since we first met at college. I saw you and I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. And I’d see you with all those girls and it fucking hurt...”

“There aren’t any girls now,” Matt pointed out. “It’s just you and me.”

“You don’t want this. You don’t want _us._ ”

“How do you know what I want?”

Foggy gasped out a breathless laugh, pinned under the weight of the Devil. “You never showed any interest in batting for the other side, buddy!”

“I’m not interested in other men. Just you.”

“Th — this is crazy! The first day I met you, I told you were really good-looking. You hated that, I could see it from your face!”

“I was a kid! I didn’t know what to do with the new feelings I was experiencing! Foggy, none of that matters now.” A gloved hand was cupping Foggy’s face, as smooth and cool as fresh dirt.

He wanted to argue, he felt vulnerable, some small feeble creature lying there with its soft underbelly exposed. He couldn’t handle a rejection from Matt, not again, and surely Matt was going to come to his senses and climb off the bed and leave?

He had wanted this for so long, it felt like it wasn’t happening. Any second, he was going to wake up, sit up and his eyes will fall open to see an empty room. But for now, this second, he had a lapful of eager Devil, kissing at Foggy’s neck and ear, anywhere he can reach.

“Foggy, Foggy…” Matt said and the words were broken up by giddy laughter as if he couldn’t believe it either. Did Matt think he was dreaming too? Were they both dreaming at the same time?

Foggy’s brain had been offline since he spotted Matt climbing through the window but it switched on, quite suddenly. It was telling him _Matt wants you, don’t waste this—_

And he grabbed him. Roughly. Harder than he’d be with a woman and Matt apparently liked that, groaned when Foggy grasped his shoulders and pulled him down for a kiss.

All of him, he wanted all of him. He pulled Matt closer. Slippery kevlar, wet from the rain, rolled under his fingers. 

“Tell me what you’d do to me…” Matt gasped. His hands explored Foggy’s body like eyes, travelling over everything, cataloguing what he found to store in his memory.

He told him in hushed whispers, feeling like he was confessing a crime. He spoke of kissing, wet and deep, or sweet and dry. Told him how he wanted to lay Matt out, spread him out on the covers, take him apart piece by piece. Wanted to kiss him everywhere, stick his tongue in places Matt doesn’t think about, open him up and work into him until Foggy was deeper than anybody had ever been. He wanted those strong, muscled legs on either side of his head. He wanted to make those legs shake, feel Matt tremble beneath him as he’s undone by Foggy’s mouth.

And as he was saying this, Matt gasped, “Yes, yes,” in his ear.

Matt stayed with him all night. As the sun rose, their bodies were still curled together, and the floor was littered with pieces of Daredevil’s armour. Foggy knew they were going to have to talk about this. Address some concerns and see where they’re at. You can’t fix a friendship (or relationship) in one night. But, as he ran his fingers across Matt’s sleeping face, he thought that they'd made a good start.


End file.
